


Hold On

by f1py



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: AU: Criminals, AU: Heist, Angst, Flashbacks, M/M, Songfic, like its pretty much all them, michaels in there for a bit though, mostly ray and ryan though, plenty of angst, the rest are just kinda technical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:36:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f1py/pseuds/f1py
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ice. Ryan's icy, cold eyes boring into Ray, haunting him, residing permanently in the back of his mind and never letting him forget what happened that night. The image was never-ending, and just might drive him to confront everything unspoken.</p><p>A songfic based off of the Ryan/Ray relationship in Kazoobie's "a city of fools." I highly suggest reading that first because 1. it's a really great fic and 2. this will most likely not make sense if you don't. (More info in the notes on that.)</p><p>(Song: Hold On - SBTRKT)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a city of fools](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842349) by [thescrewtapedemos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos). 



> Well, like I said in the summary, I would heavily recommend reading "a city of fools" before this, seeing as this is a kind of meta fanfic-of-a-fanfic? I guess. I don't know. "A city of fools" is a fantastic work; your time won't be wasted in the least. I'm a perfectionist, so I took absolutely no liberties with the dialogue and major plot events. Definitely took liberties with everything else, though.
> 
> I also kinda said I would to this forever ago, but y'know. Things came up, family came into town, blah blah blah, it's up now.
> 
> Once again, the song is SBTRKT's "Hold On." Give it a listen!

_What do you mean you’re not coming by?_

_I called you later and you were outside_

“What do you mean you’re not coming by? Another job?” Ray asked, hopelessness sneaking into his words.

A calculated “No.” was the only response Ryan gave from the other end of the line. There were words behind the simple answer but Ray couldn’t seem to fish them out.

He would have to try, at least. “That’s all I get?”

“I don’t have very much time right now. I have to set up certain things before tonight’s plan.”

There was an edge to his voice. It was almost imperceptible. His coldness teetered on the brink of uneasy.

“When will you need Michael? He just got here a few minutes ago.”

“Soon, but not right away. Call me at nine.”

“Nine it is,” Ray agreed, and paused for a moment to consider what he should say. “Hey, maybe we can talk later? I think―”

He was cut off by the sound of an ending call.

And he did call at nine. Ryan said he was close, and asked for Michael and Ray to head to the alley a block away so they could be picked up easier.

“Both of us?”

“Change of plans. Last-minute. We’ll need you with Michael.”

Ray had no questions. He almost never did. Changes in the plans occurred often and had to be adapted to quickly and without word. As far as he knew, they needed Michael to be waiting with a car somewhere. They must have needed him for another car, a shooter, something.

In the car a focused, tense silence enveloped them. Michael broke it after a few minutes.

“Where are we going? It’s west to the store.”

“We’re taking a detour.” Another too-simple sentence with worlds behind it.

Still no questions. Ray considered asking, but figured Ryan had to know what he was doing. The man was calculating by nature. There was some plan here that would work out.

If he wouldn’t lie to himself, he would say he was beating back small flames of doubt and fear. And with the other plan, the whole reason any of this was happening, beginning to go to hell and plainly displayed over their radios, his adrenaline and panic grew more threatening.

It had been a whirlwind of admitted confusion as Ryan lead Michael and Ray out of the car and down through the maze of tunnels. With each turn, each step, each passing second, Ray’s walls of reassurance wore thin to thinly-veiled fear. He had run out of excuses. Geoff’s, Jack’s and Gavin’s frantic screams and calls and remade plans were broadcast by radio through the echoing tunnels, serving as a backdrop to the anxious thoughts surrounding Ray.

Ryan stopped, suddenly, and Ray and Michael followed suit. Ray glanced at Michael, who was staring straight ahead. Refusing to lock eyes.

The fear broke loose. Michael knew. Michael knew why they were here, whatever reason it was, and was afraid. Afraid for Ray? Of Ray?

“C’mere.” Ryan said, gesturing to the space in front of him. In Ray’s confusion, he hadn’t thought to mentally map the way through the sewers. He couldn’t run.

No, what was he thinking? This was getting out of hand. He wouldn’t need to run! This would work out. He glanced at Michael again, but wished he hadn’t. His eyes weren’t met.

He stepped in front of Ryan anyway. Frantic thoughts scattered any rational thinking. He looked for solace in Ryan’s eyes, but found none. All he saw was ice, unforgiving and emotionless. His fear rose higher. A glance at Ryan’s moving hand revealed the gun he had with him. Ray’s eyes widened and fixed on the weapon. He glanced back up, met eyes with Ryan. The gun was aimed directly at him, resting below Ryan’s face. Ray stared down the barrel before meeting eyes with Ryan once again.

“Don’t you fucking do it, Ryan.”

Somehow his trembling jaw formed a stable voice. He wanted to break down, to scream and question what the fuck was going on. He wanted to figure things out, to make them okay again. Everything had gone wrong at this point. The radios confirmed that. The heist had gone haywire, Gavin was wounded, the cops had found them, they needed a car. All screams, all rendered meaningless.

“Someone ratted, Ray.” Ryan said, with a slight shake of his head as if he had no other choice. Ray’s face broke, Ryan’s face held. He offered an empty, slight smile. “Can’t be Geoff or Jack or Gavin. Isn’t me. It’s you or Michael and no offense, Michael, but you couldn’t hide that from me.”

“Ryan.” Michael tried to intervene. It was a desperate move, trying to rationalize. “No one ratted, Ryan, shit, especially not Ray.”

Ray picked up the chance to stall, to try to instill some life-saving rational thought into Ryan’s head. He held his voice, still firm. “I didn’t rat. I swear, Ryan.”

Ryan’s next look over him revealed for a split second some flash of emotion. Pain, maybe. It was gone as soon as it came, and the cold stare returned.

“I don’t believe you.”

Ryan moved forward, Ray stepped back. Michael followed to the left, waiting. The splash of sewage was the only sound echoing through the tunnels as Ray waited for his back to hit the wall. It did after a few steps, a cold bump to his back. Silence came as the three of them stopped.

“Don’t do this, Rye.” Ray whispered, and left himself the most vulnerable he could be with his eyes to plead for his life.

It worked as emotion broke free in a flash across Ryan’s face, but he acted in the heat of betrayal and pain. He lurched forward, far enough in to be everything Ray could see and think and feel and hear. The ice in his gaze was gone, cold fire burning bright and fueled by agony. Ray could feel the cool metal sliding up under his chin. It was steady. After everything, after breaking through and seeing the agony and hurt, the gun pressed to kill him did not shake.

“Why did it have to be you?” Ryan asked, aching in his eyes, voice breaking on the last word.

Ray knew he had lost, and felt the muscles in Ryan’s arm pressed against his stomach tense as he pulled the trigger.

Screams, screams, his ears filled with screams in the eternity it took for him to fall. “Ryan! Ryan, what―what did― _Ray!_ ” Michael cried as his hands found Ray’s chest and all life and hope bled out.

 

_It always screams screams inside my head_

_Curtains closed you’d be beside my head_

 

No, it was all fake. Another nightmare. The shot ringing in his ears. Static and screaming from the radio. Michael’s yelp echoing through the sewer tunnels.

_Ryan! Ryan, what―what did―Ray!_

It was not real, all fake. It felt real. He could hear nothing in his shock and terror and the silence around him was more deafening than the shot he had dreamt. Alone in the silence and the dark he heard it all again, the shot and the screams, over and over, barely aware of the mess of sheets and suddenly floor around him. It had been real, but Ryan’s pull of the trigger and everything past it, the sound of the shot and the ringing in his ears and all of the screams, all of the sound echoing through the tunnels and Michael’s frantic hands searching for signs of life as his awareness faded―

_Ray!_

Static screams, too, where the sounds blended together in a harsh fuzz echoing around him.

It was all fake. Weary, he caught steady sounds that brought him back. His own breathing, the ceiling fan above, a voice next to him. Michael’s.

“Ray?”

_Ray!_

“I’m fine.” Ray responded. He wasn’t fine. But none of it was real. A nightmare.

Yet once the sounds faded, the image remained. A cold face, dead eyes with a faint glimmer hidden behind barricades, the face haunting him engulfed his mind and was all he could see. Even now, after it all, Ryan found presence beside Ray.

As if the nightmares weren’t enough of a reminder.

 

_You were always down for it_

_Get in this getaway and we run from it_

 

Things had been better. Everything had been better. He could so vividly remember the amazing getaways they’d had, making it out in time, losing the cops, relishing the adrenaline and relief. Ryan had always come alive in the getaway. There were two Ryans everyone had seen―the Ryan before a heist and the Ryan after. The two were worlds, universes, apart. Ryan took care of certain loose ends before a heist to ensure a clean getaway, and the person he became was detached, emotionless. Empty expressions and icy tones. But the person he was after the rush was alive, heart beating and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Fire burned in his eyes, in his smile, in his booming voice. This was the Ryan that Ray enjoyed remembering.

And Ray knew that this rush, this adrenaline, was precisely the reason Ryan was ready for any plan. When huge, impossible schemes were thrown at him, he accepted. Because the getaway, the payoff, was worth it. Everything he did worked toward some goal, some rush, some way to win. His actions were reckless and without cause to the other guys, but they were all part of a plan.

And all of this came alive in his eyes. The eagerness, the hope, the joy of being alive―it showed, unbridled, through his eyes as they would speed down city streets to evade the trailing police. His eyes would become transparent; anyone who took a glance at his face could plainly see that the getaway was what he lived for.

But Ryan could somehow split himself into two. There was no other way to explain the switch between the darkness and vibrancy, the ice and fire, the before and after.

 

_You’re giving me the coldest stare_

_Like you don’t even know I’m here_

_Why don’t we turn the leaf?_

He had mastered the art of building walls around himself. That was the only way he could be able to do business in the way that he did, detached and void of emotion. Ray saw it, all of the guys saw it, when he would return from his now countless jobs. He learned to treat real, human lives as dispensable, as gamepieces, as timebombs. The longer untrusted people held valuable information, the closer Ryan and everyone connected to him, all they had, came to falling apart. And he was given the duty of making sure that didn’t happen.

He couldn’t do that with emotions getting in the way.

All of the guys knew that. No one worried when Ryan would be silent after a job, when he would either refuse to meet eyes or meet them with an eerie, empty stare. It was temporary. As soon as he got away with the plan, he would come back to life.

What wasn’t temporary, though, was the image of the look in Ryan’s eyes when we was staring at the person he was ready to murder. Not as he was reliving the scene afterward, not as he was cleaning up, but immersed in the knowledge that yes, he would need to kill again. Desensitized. Ray now knew the look personally, and could only describe it as a layer of ice walling him in. But not a thin layer. The cold wall that separated the inside of Ryan’s havoc-filled mind and the life he needed to end was a mile thick and impenetrable. It was the work of a genius, and a talented one. Show no emotion, show no mercy, make no mistakes. Get the job done, get out quick, get away with it. All of it fell into neat equations that ended in final points. No loose ends.

But the conundrum, then, is when the trusted member is the loose end. When the one Ryan should be protecting endangers everything he and the others had built up. Ray understood, in a way. He saw how Ryan’s actions fit into place. He knew Ryan could never trust his own emotions. They got to him, though, by way of insomnia and uneasiness and subconscious actions. And so at the first sign of a rat, he knew Ryan’s emotions would lead him to turn to everyone but Ray first. Ryan and Ray had trusted each other, they had held each other’s lives in their palms, they had existed together on some other wavelength that the others somehow could not find. So Ryan would investigate, try every other possible solution besides the one staring him in the face by process of elimination. But after a while Ryan would have realized what these emotions were doing to him, jeopardizing everyone for whom he cared. And he would turn back to Ray, finally seeing what he was convinced was the truth.

But it meant so much more than a simple course of actions to Ray, especially with Ryan’s cold stare haunting him in day, in dream, in nightmare. Ray knew―or had convinced himself, perhaps―that Ryan had to have found a way to not see Ray there in those tunnels. To see someone else, some other Ray that was always hanging on the fringe and a little too sketchy for Ryan’s liking. Some scumbag Ray that would have ratted. Then, maybe then, Ryan could have shoved the gun under Ray’s chin and looked so determined, so prepared, to kill.

Ray ran it all over as he stared at the ceiling fan above in the dark room, listening to Michael’s faint breathing next to him. He had gone down this path of reasoning before. It made him sick, in a way, his need to reason out and make excuses for what Ryan had done. But it had been two years, now, and he knew that this was the best he would do on his own.

Two years to think it over, to convince himself it wasn’t that bad.

Part of his mind screamed at him. Not that bad! A split-second away from being killed, an empty gaze haunting him, paranoia resurging every time he faced Ryan again, and it was not that bad.

But no matter the severity, he couldn’t ignore the desire to find out what had really done it. What had really convinced Ryan to pull the gun away, walk forward without looking back, and continue for that night like nothing had happened.

Two years, and he now had the opportunity to find out.

The opportunity to reopen old wounds, to dive into the terror he had shoved under the surface so long ago.

The opportunity to talk again.

He could try.

 

_What you’ve done, what you’ve done you can’t keep inside_

_By the end of the night I’ll help you confide_

_‘Cause I can see your sad self_

_‘Cause I can see you’re not being yourself_

 

Ray knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. His nightmares hadn’t been that bad in a long, long time. He couldn’t find a comfortable spot in the bed and decided to get up, maybe check on Ryan. Make himself feel safer, distract himself from the cold face trailing him in the back of his mind.

He sits up, throwing his legs over the side of the mattress, and picks up his gun. He pretends for his own sake to not notice that his hands are trembling.

He steps out, passes Gavin, and pauses. Gavin’s presence alone reminds him of how everything used to be. Remarkably, in the time away, Gavin did not change in essence, did not harden. Ray knew he could never expect Ryan and himself to reach some untouched version of their past relationship. He didn’t expect anything. But Gavin, and all of the memories he brought with him, enveloped Ray with a bitter nostalgia. As he rounded a corner in the apartment, he saw yellow light spill in a sliver from Ryan’s room into the darkness outside. The sight jogged too-familiar memories. Ryan’s insomnia.

He considered opening the door more. He considered turning around before Ryan saw him. He could see few other options, and briefly entertained himself with tracing the trigger-guard of his gun. He had no hurry, just a decision to make.

Ryan’s voice interrupted his thought process. “You can come in.” He stated quietly, and Ray knew he couldn’t ignore Ryan now.

A silent push of the door and he was in, looking into Ryan’s eyes, stepping forward into the room.

Ryan broke the gaze, glancing down to eye Ray’s ever-present gun. The cold, merciless face was back in Ray’s mind for a split-second before Ryan met eyes with Ray once again. He set his book down, placed his hands neatly in his lap. Calculated.

They said nothing for a moment.

“Ray―”

A reflex, Ray’s gun was aimed at Ryan’s chest. An instant reaction. Who knew when he had learned it exactly. He didn’t remember bringing the gun up; his emotions hadn’t wavered for a second. Reflexive.

“I could kill you right now.” Ray stated simply. He was numb, barely feeling the steady gun in his extended hand.

“Yes.” Ryan answered.

There was a pause as Ray thought, trying to find the words but trying not to think.

“You expected this.” He settled on.

“Well, maybe not this exactly.” Ryan responded, offering as much of a smirk as he could with a gun trained on his heart.

Ray twitched the gun, too strained to deal with the familiar way Ryan liked to dance around the truth.

“But you don’t seem surprised.”

Ryan shrugged, careful with his movement. “I thought you’d want to talk eventually. I didn’t factor in getting killed, I’ll be honest.”

Ray laughed once, paused again, and spoke.

“You would deserve it, if I killed you right here and now.”

Staring into Ray’s eyes with only emptiness, Ryan nodded slowly. He watched and kept still as Ray dropped the gun to his side, took note of the way Ray kept his finger lightly on the trigger.

“Why didn’t you shoot me, in the tunnels? Why didn’t you pull the trigger?”

Ryan finally flinched, allowed one flash of weakness into the open, and returned to staring steadily at Ray.

That was it―sadness. Ryan’s eyes were faintly sad now, but in the flash of emotion he had displayed, Ray could see the sadness that consumed him now.

His sad, dully pained eyes reminded Ray too, too much of cold eyes and fiery eyes and earnest eyes of how things were before. Ryan’s face was easy to read, and Ryan was fully aware. He took care to make sure he was steady, void of emotion, and wholly unreadable when he wanted to be.

When he didn’t mind, Ray remembered, he was honest. An open book. Ryan’s expressions, his eyes, were open and earnest so much more often back before things went wrong.

 

_‘Cause usually you’re down for it_

_Can’t hold back a smile when you try for it_

Ryan had his two selves, kept fully apart from each other, but in the middle of a heist as adrenaline rushed and lights flashed and guns sounded, the transformation was really something to watch.

Ray had paid attention a few times before, and he felt as if he was taken directly into Ryan’s world simply because of the pure, honest emotion that filled Ryan’s eyes. All of his setup, all of his gruesome work, all of his sickening burdens―they were all in the midst of falling into place. Risk was just behind him, reward was just around the corner. Every calculation was working out to a neat point, and it filled Ryan with wonder as he watched it happen every time. Anyone could see it in his eyes.

No matter what it was, any emotion displayed itself on Ryan’s face in the middle of a heist. He had nothing to hide from there, no one to barricade himself for. Fear, shock, relief all flashed upon his face and were gone within an instant as new emotions overtook him. Ray swore it was amazing to watch. All it took was a second of attention paid to Ryan’s face and the contrast between his normal, calculated self and this window to anything and everything he felt from moment to moment was enough to make him stop in his tracks.

It was absolutely fascinating how he could change himself so drastically. A flash of his face above his gun entered Ray’s mind once again and almost made him shiver. Eyes like ice, any thoughts of his hidden desperately from anyone outside.

 

_You’re giving me the coldest stare_

_Like you don’t even know I’m here_

_Why don’t you let me sing?_

 

All Ray wanted was just a step closer to honesty. He knew, he knew there was no going back to how it had been, but he was sick and goddamn tired of steady gazes and poker faces. He came back to the present, out of his head. Honesty, or something close to it, was lingering in the air.

“I… I thought I told you. After… after we got out of the tunnels.”

And there Ryan was once again, straying away from direct answers. They both knew it was a last resort.

“I don’t give a fuck. Tell me again.”

Ryan left Ray’s eyes, shifting his gaze to a distant point just past him and off of his face. He laughed once, quietly, and breathed his answer.

“I couldn’t.” He started, and Ray took one step closer. “I couldn’t make myself. I should have―” He continued, deliberately looking up into Ray’s eyes and out of them again. “I was so sure you were the rat, and I should have done it. But I couldn’t make myself kill you.”

Ray heard it. He heard Ryan’s attempt at making all of his words even, trying to smooth out the emphasis on his last word. He realized, then, that he had fully crossed the room, gun settled on the fabric of Ryan’s shirt. He nudged Ryan’s chest with the barrel.

“Why.” It was a demand, not a question. A demand for Ryan to explain, to continue, to enunciate the hidden meaning that backed his words. Ryan laughed again.

“Really? You have to know by now.” The bitter tone of his words was light. He looked over Ray’s face, and saw no sign of change. “But apparently you don’t. Fuck.” He continued.

Stalling, again.

“Just fucking _tell_ me, Haywood.”

“It’s so goddamn obvious, though.” Ryan responded, offering a smile with more bitterness than emptiness this time. “I’m in love with you, you idiot.”

A long pause kept them still as Ray thought, hiding everything behind a barrier of his own and dropping the gun once again to his side. Ryan watched Ray and Ray looked anywhere but at Ryan.

Ray turned slightly, set the gun down, fixated on the safety and checked it was on. Turning back to face Ryan, he gazed into the space above Ryan’s head and stepped closer again. Ryan stared, observing. Suddenly Ray’s thighs were settled on Ryan’s hips, and Ryan’s hands found their way to Ray’s waist before he could realize what was happening. He jerked his head up and watched Ray’s eyes as Ray paused again. Ray closed his eyes slowly, bringing his chin up and kissing Ryan’s forehead.

He brought his lips back, tilting his head down and locking his gaze in Ryan’s.

“I forgive you.” He whispered.

Their lips met slowly, gently. Sharing and listening, pushing and pulling, they reached something here Ray could have called honesty. Nothing was quick, hasty, flares of desire bubbling up. They had guarded themselves from each other for too long to allow for that. Instead it was a learning process, slow and deliberate but not calculated, not planned, not without slow-burning love backing every movement.

 

_Whatever done, however bad, hold on, hold on, hold on_

Everything―every movement, every glance, every bit of truth shared between the two that would never have been in the open before―changed things. Ray was done remembering. He was done watching for shadows over his shoulder, tensing his muscles in preparation to run, carrying a gun at his side at all times, keeping steady eyes on Ryan anytime the other man was near. He was done feeling the icy eyes on him in the back of his mind, waking up with that cold stare boring into him.

Things would be different. They both were sure of that. The carefree mood of two years past was long gone, and they would have to learn to be easy with each other again. The past was real and tangible and still fresh in both of their minds, but time had dulled the pain.

There would be no forgiving and forgetting, no moving forward and never daring to look back. But as their futures shifted and intertwined, their past became something to take in as an integral part of their lives, walking on and learning as they did.

It was a complicated start.

Ray opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the familiar sight of a ceiling fan in a dark room. Rolling his head to the left, he saw Ryan’s gently shut eyes and vaguely wondered if he was asleep. He slid an arm over Ryan’s chest, holding on to what he had.

Whatever done, they were both headed for something good.

 


End file.
